


The Lion in the Outback

by WingedFlight



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, The Great Emu War, aka the best piece of history ever, emu rituals, i really need to count how many of my fics start with a joking tweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24687775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedFlight/pseuds/WingedFlight
Summary: The General is weary, and a predator approaches.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	The Lion in the Outback

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rthstewart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/gifts).



_ Come my soldiers, my witches, my kin. Come and gather, light the ritual flames, sing the war-cries of our ancestors. Raise our voices! Stoke the fire! Feel the deep magic that runs through all! Come together, soldiers, witches, and kin. Come together, sing the rituals, and remember!  _

* * *

There was a predator in the outback. 

The General could see him, far in the distance: a golden cat distorted by the heat haze. It was prowling slowly but steadily closer, and had been for some time. 

They were on the edge of the farmland. The General’s troops were spread out behind him, walking the wheat fields, assessing damage, tending the wounded. If the troops had noticed the approaching threat, they paid it no mind. They trusted their General’s watchful eye. 

He’d nearly failed them, at the start. The enemy had planned an ambush, laid patiently in waiting as the General led his people blindly into danger. Chaos had followed: cracking, rolling thunder like the sound of a stampede; pain and blood inflicted from afar; death striking the innocent at random. The General had rallied his forces and led his warriors in a screaming attack, trusting in the protective shield-magic of his witch-kin to hold off the enemy’s curses. 

Many had fallen, regardless. But most had scattered and escaped. Most were still alive, despite his error. 

Since then, his people had been divided. No longer were they one proud army of thousands; now, they were but small flocks scattered across the plains. And all the General could do now was stand watch.

* * *

_ Dance, sing, scream the chants! Remember the toils of our ancestors. Remember the blood of our soldiers, the sacrifices of our witch-kin. Remember our lives in the land of the enemy. And let the flames of our fire reach to the sky!  _

* * *

“You are too hard on yourself,” said the predator.

The golden cat was closer now, but not close enough for speaking. Still, the General heard him as clear as though they stood side by side. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the General. “Who are you? What do you want?” 

“I am the Lion,” said the predator. “I am the one you have been waiting for.” 

“I haven’t been waiting for anyone,” said the General. Not unless he counted waiting on edge for the next attack. 

The Lion continued his approach. The General wondered whether he should sound the alarm, send his tired troops into another flight. But he didn’t, not yet. Maybe he was tired, too. Or maybe he sensed that the Lion had more to say. 

So he asked again, “Who are you?” 

“I am the dawn,” said the predator, “I am the attack. I am the retreat. I am the ones you flee, and the ones who flee with you.” 

“You speak in riddles,” said the General. 

“Yes,” said the Lion. 

The heat-haze continued to dance around his golden form but he was closer now--close enough that the General wondered how none of his troops had spotted the threat. Perhaps they had. Perhaps his people stood frozen behind him, watching the approach with the same petrified curiousity he felt himself. 

With great effort, he turned his neck to look behind him.

And saw that not one of them had noticed anything.

Wonderingly, he looked again to the Lion and asked, “Do they not see you?” 

“I am not here for them to see,” said the Lion. “I have come for you. I am here to tell you, my son, that you have done good.” 

“But I haven’t,” said the General. “My people are scattered. Our enemy attacks with thunderous stones and curses even our magic cannot always deflect. I led my people to this land of plenty and its jaws of death.”

He dipped his head down, down to the ground in the shame of admitting his faults. Behind him continued the deep-rolling grunts of his people in the field. 

“Did you plan the ambushes?” asked the Lion. “Did you arm your enemies?” 

Startled, the General lifted his head. The predator was much closer now, he realized. He really ought to sound the retreat, before this Lion was too close for an escape to be possible. 

“You led your people in the charge,” the Lion continued. “You rallied your soldiers, commanded your witches. You gave the order to scatter, a technique that will save the lives of thousands. History will remember these victories.” 

“We’ve won battles. Not the war.” 

“Not yet.”

“Why are you here?” asked the General. “Tell me true.” 

The Lion looked at him with large, sorrowful eyes. “Your tactics have saved many, but they will not save you. Your people will see victory, but you will be struck down in the last charge.” 

And now the Lion was close enough for the General to see every one of his sharp, predator teeth. Close enough that it was too late to run. 

“I have come, General, to offer you and those with you a place to rest. A place where you might be free from this war, where you and all your descendants might live in peace until the end of your days.” 

At last, a mere away, he stopped. The General could feel the Lion’s hot breath on his face. He was very large, this predator. He was the most wild creature the General had ever seen. 

“A place for all of my people?” he asked. 

And the Lion answered, “A place for those of your people I see before me now.” 

If the General had not given the order for his troops to split into small guerrilla factions, if he had kept his thousands together in a show of force and defiance, would the Lion have offered differently? Would every single one of his people have the chance to enter this safe place? 

Or would they all, every single one of the thousands, have been dead before the Lion ever arrived? 

“The rest of my people,” said the General slowly, “The ones we leave behind, will they survive without me?”

“That is their story.” 

“The story of my people is my story as well. The victory you speak of, the victory that wins the war--will it still come to pass without my lead?” 

The Lion blinked, but said nothing.

The General turned again to look upon his small, loyal troop. Every one of them had shown valour in the face of death. Every one of them had upheld the noble name of the Emu. Every one of them deserved the best he could offer. 

So did the rest of his army, as scattered as they now were. 

And so the General made his decision. And when he told the great Lion, he saw no surprise in the predator’s eyes. 

* * *

_ Fifty Emus, battle-weary, gifted with strategy and speech and an intrinsic knowledge of the deep magic.  _

_ Fifty Emus, saved by the General, led to the land we now call our home.  _

_ Fifty Emus, gifted with peace and prosperity, gifted with a land where we could live side by side with our neighbours. Where we could live without fear, thanks to the sacrifice of our General!  _

* * *

When the Lion was gone, so too was a small fraction of the General’s army. He did not see them go, did not have time to say goodbye. One minute, he was staring into the golden mane of the Lion and listening to the weary calls of his weary soldiers. 

The next, the field was empty and very, very quiet. 

But there was no regret. Not then, as the General stood among the depleted wheat-stalks. Not later, as the General travelled to the next-closest troop. And not at the end, when the enemy launched their final attack and the General led his Emus into the final charge of victory. 

No regret, as he lay bleeding out on the edge of the farmlands, secure in the knowledge that he’d given his people the best he could offer. 

* * *

_ Come soldiers, come witches, come kin. Come sing the war-cries until the air trembles with our magic! Remember where we come from, remember the sacrifices that led us here, remember the one who gave everything for us. _

_ Come soldiers, witches, and kin, come together that we may call our saviour home!  _

(And in the flames of the ritual fire, the still-breathing form of the injured General begins to take shape.)

**Author's Note:**

> ONE:  
> Finally, I have written about my favourite event in the whole of human history: The Great Emu War, a military operation that really did take place in Australia in 1932 as an effort to reduce the troublesome emu population in order to protect farmers’ crops.  
> Despite ambush tactics and liberal use of machine guns by actual members of the Royal Australian Artillery, Humanity lost this war.  
> A very good quote on the event by ornithologist Dominic Serventy (found through good ol’ Wikipedia):  
> The machine-gunners’ dreams of point blank fire into serried masses of Emus were soon dissipated. The Emu command had evidently ordered guerrilla tactics, and its unwieldy army soon split up into innumerable small units that made use of the military equipment uneconomic. A crestfallen field force therefore withdrew from the combat area after about a month.  
> (Original source: "casuariiform". Encyclopædia Britannica. 2009.)
> 
> TWO:  
> Apologies, by the way, if I get things wrong about Australia. Or about emus. I'm not exactly an expert at either subject.
> 
> THREE:  
> This story was inspired, by the way, by this wonderful tweet by @foxfeather:  
> The emus are performing arcane summoning rituals in the backyard again.  
> (Click through for a Very Excellent attached video: https://twitter.com/foxfeather/status/1270423868226899969?s=20 )


End file.
